Down with Love
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: Warning: Alcohol consumption, moderate language and cynicism. In honor of the most depressing day of the year to be single, Malcolm, Trip and Hoshi get drunk and commiserate. Happy Vday, all!


Disclaimer: I don't own of the characters, or the title. As far as the various loves go, Deborah, Ruby and Rochelle were mentioned in Shuttlepod One. Marine Natalie was mentioned in Silent Enemy. Alana is from the novel What Price Honor? And Kemper was seen in The Xindi, I think. Solenne is of my own design.

Happy V-day all. This is just something I cobbled together in honor of the Most Depressing Day of the Year to Be Single Day.

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Updated: Later on Feb14: I found my tape of Shuttlepod One and Silent Enemy. It turns out that 'Marianne' is actually 'Marine' and I accidentally combined 'Rochelle and Deborah' to come up with 'Danielle'. The names have been corrected. 

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Down with Love

It was a cold, cruel romantic who had insisted on the movie marathon that night. Casablanca. Sweet November. An entire line-up of centuries-old romantic 'classics', so that all the crewwomen could drag all the crewmen to the messhall, just so they would sit there and watch said crewwomen bawl while various attractive men confessed their love to various attractive women. and visa bloody versa. 

Down with love. It made him sick.

Malcolm Reed poured another glass of scotch and glared at it before downing the contents. He sat alone- naturally, he thought- against the farthest wall of cargo bay two. He had originally intended the night to be productive, taking inventory of his weapons stock… but when he happened across the flask of liquor in one of the containers, he figured he'd re-instate his old tradition of spending February 14 piss drunk and alone.

He had always had a girlfriend for Christmas, to parade for his parents. Sometimes they stayed through January, even. But no matter what, no matter who called it off, he had always managed to end up alone on Valentine's Day.

Boo-fucking-hoo, he decided, and poured himself another drink.

The doors slid open and a weary-looking Trip Tucker entered.

"Oh. 'Syou," Malcolm mumbled.

"What a welcome," Trip said dryly, coming to sit next to the Lieutenant. Surprisingly, he did not accuse Malcolm of being a cold-hearted bastardly love-hater, down here all by himself; instead he leaned back against the wall and sighed. "I figured I'd be the only one not at the show."

"I thought you were going to convince T'Pol to watch Casablanca with you," Malcolm said without looking over at Tucker, his normal tact gone out the window along with his sobriety. 

"I was," Trip replied.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So: why aren't you?" Malcolm pressed. The room was beginning to spin slightly; it was somewhat pleasant. 

Trip shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his arm. "I… I guess I ruined things for us."

"What'd you do?" Reed slurred.

"I…" Trip sighed. "I… well, it wasn't just me!" He shouted angrily. "She went along with it."

Malcolm sat up slightly, fell back, and struggled up again, all the while gaping at the Commander. "You… you didn't?"

Trip nodded miserably.

"You dirty bastard," Reed blurted out, sounding all at once proud, jealous, and drunk. It was quite a feat. "So… what went wrong?"

"She's a Vulcan. That's what went wrong," Trip replied acerbically. He considered things for a moment, then continued, "She said it was an experiment. Testing a hypothesis or some bullshit like that."

Malcolm nodded, regarding all three Trips with as much compassion as he could muster. "Woman do that. Down with love."

Trip looked up, cracking a humorless smile. "You're drunk."

"I'm not on duty!"

"I know. I'm not saying it like that, I'm saying give me some before you drink it all." Trip explained.

"Oh." Malcolm, reluctantly, passed him the bottle. He wouldn't have been willing, if he hadn't known there were more just like it in the canister a few meters away. Together they worked through a few more glasses in silence. 

"So," Trip said at last. "What's made you so cynical? 'Down with love'?" 

"Lesse," Malcolm slurred, the room spinning even faster by now. "Deborah. Rochelle. Marine. Ruby. Alana."

"Malcolm…" Trip said, slightly more serious. "She's been dead over a year now."

Reed didn't respond; instead, he went to drink his scotch and spilled it down his uniform front in the process. He barely even noticed. "Well, you asked me who's made me so cynical. What about you? Who's your excuse?"

"Natalie," Trip replied. "Ruby. Solenne. Lizzie."

"You never told me you dated any girl named Lizzie," Malcolm replied. Random passing Vulcans, if there were any to be found, would have been almost delighted to witness such a supreme pressing of the laws of Human intoxication.

"My sister, Malcolm," Trip said. Normally, he would've been angrier, but the world was beginning to spin from his vantage point as well. "I didn't know we were talking purely about romantic cynicism."

"That's a funny word," Malcolm decided, chuckling.

Trip scowled as Malcolm got himself under control. "If," the Englishman said finally, "if we're talking about _everything _that's made us cynical, then: life."

"Life?" Trip echoed.

"The whole fucking lot of it," Reed confirmed. "My father. My mother. All the kids who used to beat me up…" Malcolm continued, his voice wavering dangerously as he listed the reasons why his life sucked to the surrounding air.

Trip jumped in, thinking it a good idea to change the subject. "I've heard of Alana, Deborah and Rochelle. Definitely Ruby. Who was Marine?"

"Marianna Rosana Boulevardez," Malcolm replied wistfully. "Brown eyes, brown hair, only came up to my chin but she made up for it in other ways," he commented impishly. Then he sobered as much as was possible given how drunk he was. "She was a gorgeous waitress at this fish place in San Francisco… I eventually got her to go out with me, at least for a little while. I left her February twelfth of my last year at Starfleet."

"Harsh," Trip agreed. "Why?"

He realized the instant he said it that it was a mistake. Malcolm launched into a long, maudlin tale of commitmentphobia during which he finished the bottle of scotch and directed Trip to the rest of the 'supply'. Luckily, before Trip was forced to slap him, the door slid open again and Hoshi Sato entered. Her hair was out of its normal ponytail, but instead of being carefully arranged in some other way, it hung about her shoulders limply.

"Shit," she said passionately, upon seeing the two of them. "I thought I'd at least be alone down _here_."

When his eyes finally focused enough to register a female presence, Malcolm nodded courteously. "Good evening, miss."

"You're drunk," Hoshi told to two of them, and immediately plopped down on Trip's other side. "As is my goal for the evening." Tucker obligingly handed her a drink, which she drained instantly, proffering her glass for a refill. Trip tried to pour it again and missed the cup. At last, Hoshi seized it from his shaking hands and tipped the opening to her lips directly.

"Go Hoshi!" Malcolm shouted, then dissolved into giggles.

At least ten seconds later, Hoshi lowered the bottle and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "So," she said as though this was nothing out of the ordinary. "What're your excuses?"

"For what?" Trip replied. Malcolm began to laugh again, harder this time.

"For being social incompetents," Hoshi replied immediately.

"In chronological order, for the Commander and I respectively, the excuses are: Rochelle, Deborah, Marine, Ruby, and Alana, and Solenne, Ruby- same one, Natalie and T'Pol," Malcolm said proudly. The effort of stringing together a complete sentence was too much for him, though, and he fell back against Trip's shoulder, laughing until his entire body was trembling. 

"T'Pol?" Hoshi repeated inquisitively.

"Trip shagged her," Malcolm offered helpfully, still laying against the man who currently wanted to punch his lights out. 

"You… what? Commander?" Hoshi was sitting up straighter, her eyes full of laughter.

"It's 'Trip' when we're drunk," Trip replied sullenly, retrieving the scotch from her and taking a drain. 

"You slept with Sub-commander T'Pol?" There was wonder in the Ensign's voice.

"T'Pol and Charlie sitting in a tree," Malcolm began. Trip pushed him away, and he overbalanced and fell to the floor. He stayed there.

"Down with love," Trip quoted. 

"Well put," Hoshi agreed, wisely not pushing the T'Pol subject any further. "Down with love."

"So whass your excuse?" Tucker slurred at last. 

Hoshi sighed. "All MACOs are bastards."

"Thass right," Malcolm said, managing at last to push himself up off the floor. "Weren't you going to the movie with that Kemper bloke?"

"All MACOs are bastards," Hoshi repeated by way of reply.

"Well said," Trip muttered.

"Whass your problem with them?" Malcolm wondered.

"Amanda Cole," the Commander replied.

"You shagged her too?" Reed exclaimed. "You dirty bastard!"

"It don't matter how many people you shag," Trip philosophized. "You're always gon' be alone on Valentine's Day." He lowered his head miserably. Malcolm nodded in all directions. 

Hoshi considered them, deciding that if they began to cry, she would take the scotch and run. 

"You're very drunk," she told both of them. But, she had to admit, as did her two companions, that somehow it was better than being alone and miserable on Valentine's Day to be alone and miserable on Valentine's Day, surrounded by people just as miserable as you. Particularly if they had scotch.

Now wasn't that just fun! Hope I didn't depress you further, lol!


End file.
